I Possessed a Broken Academy Instructor - Chapter 65



Chapter 65

Gear.

A measure of a superhuman’s capacity.

A virtual organ that harnesses the psionic energy emanating from the heart of a superhuman, also known as the Psychic Core or Psychic Furnace.

The theories on how to grow these gears are many, yet most in academia claim that talent accounts for nine-tenths, and effort less than one-tenth.

Some even add that these figures are hardly meaningful.

…Is it not truly despairing?

Once a gear has solidified, it is as if there is no chance for growth without talent.

“What if the gear were to crumble?”

The wall of talent renders effort worthless.

Even that alone has caused many to break, but what of those who experience a degradation of their gears?

To a superhuman, the gear is more precious than the body.

Even if an arm were severed, a leg lost, or the innards completely ruptured, without fail, superhumans would always choose their gear.

It is only natural.

Is this not a world where genetic engineering and replacement organs have advanced to the point of overcoming even disabilities?

Yet the gear is different.

A once-damaged core resembles a glass cup hastily glued back together from shattered pieces.

No matter how diligently one tries to piece it back, cracks and gaps remain, allowing psionic energy to seep through like droplets of water.

And that is not all.

Each time it is operated, the corresponding pain and burden crush the flesh.

One might even idly think that grinding the organs in a blender would be less painful than this.

“…Cough!”

Satra swallowed the mingled blood and saliva that escaped her lips in a fit of cough, forcing down the bile that rose within her, and with slightly clearer eyes, she gazed upon the battlefield, which was a mess beyond description.

“Gaaah!”

“Stop! I said stop!”

“It’s already breached! What do you want me to stop for, you fool!”

“The, the Zenolua family? Why are they here?”

“That’s the side that woman is on! Are you not paying attention? Cough!”

The iron door of the rear entrance, now twisted into scrap by the truck.

On that line, those who sought to breach and those who aimed to defend were entangled in a deadly struggle, each fighting to kill the other.

“Captain.”

“Yeah.”

At the words of the subordinate standing beside her, Satra nodded once, then turned the creaking gears with a grim determination.

“We’ll support the mafia. The rest comes after that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Their intentions remained shrouded in mystery.

There was no expectation of goodwill from them.

Yet, the reason she chose the mafia was not for any complex strategy, but rather the simple truth of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend.’

To side with the attackers from the outset would be nothing short of absurd.

“Subduing is not permitted. Kill them all.”

“Of course, that goes without saying.”

Moreover, the fact that red hands were intertwined with the lines drawn was more than enough reason to ensure their demise.

Kill them all.

Those connected to them would be slaughtered, their corpses piled high as a declaration of war thrown at Kim Cheol, that damned old madman.

“Together…”

“Did you say Famiyu? It seems she’s overexerted herself; let her rest.”

Indeed, during the charge, Famiyu had pushed her psionic energy beyond her limits, leaving her face pale and drawn.

“…Yes.”

Perhaps it was the weight of the burden she felt.

Famiyu nodded silently, while Miel placed a hand on her back, eyes closed, quickly channeling energy to bolster her.

Of course, seeing Famiyu’s shoulders tremble, Satra couldn’t help but let out a small, wry laugh.

“They’re coming from behind!”

“Damn it! I’m going crazy!”

Meanwhile, the enemies, bleeding and cursing, soon murmured in voices tinged with despair.

Did they realize too late that they were behind?

The ones who had been desperately holding back the mafia crashing through the back gate turned, shouting in panic.

In truth, they must have known.

Those who had rammed the truck through the back gate could hardly be friendly.

“Block the back!”

“Uwaaah!”

Yet, there was still a glimmer of hope.

The mafia pressing from the front were being held off somehow, and the ones who had disembarked from the truck numbered at most ten.

‘We must hold them!’

It was not out of great loyalty or a sense of duty.

Simply, the pressure of death if they failed was what drove them forward.

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“Uwaaah!”

Leading the charge was a man who had just moments ago torn off the arm of a member of the Genolua family, breathing heavily as he did.

He turned back, reaching out toward Satra, and as if his joints were like a spider’s legs, the muzzle of a submachine gun emerged between the artificial muscles.

“Die!”

The artificial eye embedded in his own socket glowed red, calculating her rapidly approaching trajectory, and soon he began to unleash a torrent of bullets aimed squarely at her forehead.

Tatatatatatatatatat!

The sound was like a chainsaw revving, the shoulder mounted with the gun vibrating madly from the recoil.

The muzzle stained crimson, teeth grinding as if they might shatter.

Yet, believing without a doubt in her imminent death, he could not help but let out a voice steeped in horror.

“W-What!?”

From her movements, he had surmised she was either superhuman or had combat implants in her legs.

But the moment her fist filled his vision, he could only sense it.

The countless traces of scattered bullets.

Tutatatatatata!

The trembling muzzle. The tangled gazes.

A space thick with darkness.

The glint of the truck’s taillights.

The overlapping trajectories of bullets, repeatedly embedding themselves in the ground.

“A—.”

That she had misjudged her opponent for far too long.

And that was the last of the first enemy she faced, Satra.

BANG!

In a single bound, she crossed a distance of at least thirty meters. As soon as the foe entered her range, she planted her left foot firmly on the ground, twisting her waist to unleash a punch that burst his face like a balloon.

Fragments of his head, shattered like a watermelon, tumbled across the floor, but none among the former defenders of the Lemal planet, herself included, paid it any mind.

It was only natural.

They had lost their homeland to the Creatures, their families, and even their last hope had been deceived by the Red Hand, leaving only the thirst for vengeance.

“Bugs connected to the Red Hand, trading Creatures for humans.”

Truly, was this not a perfect adversary, one they could kill without a shred of emotion?

“Cough!”

“Ah, aaah!”

As they burst in, it became increasingly difficult to keep the Mafia at bay, who were already on the brink of collapse.

“…Damn it.”

The officer in charge of the scene bit his lip, glancing back and forth in a desperate attempt to regain control, but no answers were forthcoming.

No, it was beyond mere lack of answers.

At last, his face turned ashen, and what slipped from his lips was a near-whisper of horror.

“What the hell is that…?”

The Mafia, hiding behind cover and firing their guns, were struggling, but the rear was paying a harsh price for their moment of complacency, outnumbered and overwhelmed.

“W-What did we do wrong!”

“Uaaah!”

The wretchedness of those dying stood in stark contrast to the Mafia, who clung to their vendettas and omertà, brandishing their ‘face’ with bravado.

They could kill instantly, yet they often chose to rip limbs apart or, worse, obliterate heads in a gruesome display.

As if they were truly avenging a deep-seated grudge.

Of course, the number of remnants following her was merely ten, and as Baek Hwi-young had thought absentmindedly, they were not of high quality either.

The elite who had followed her had lost half their number in the hangar that day, facing General Kim Cheol.

“Shiten.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The last remnants of the defeated, comprised of underqualified officers and non-commissioned special task officers, were nearly dual in their average gear.

Having faced the Red Hand not long ago, they seemed to unleash their pent-up frustration and helplessness by madly slaughtering the foes before them.

They broke bones, listening to the screams as if they were music.

“Ha, ugha. Ugh.”

I trample the pleading hands, breaking them.

Some might curse them for venting their anger on the wrong targets, too cowardly to face the true crimson hands before them. Yet, they were learning once more the art of killing humans, eagerly awaiting the day they would meet those fiends again.

“Haak, haak…”

“Phew. Tch.”

How much time had passed like this?

Of course, the Zenolua family was no fool; they responded with increasing aggression, and it wasn’t long before they succeeded in completely occupying the back gate.

Had it been just the mafia, they might have been able to hold them off, but with the door smashed by a truck, special operations officers charging from behind, and bullets raining down from the mafia in front, they found themselves at a loss.

“…S-save me.”

The situation began to calm rapidly.

Bang!

Occasionally, there were stubborn fingers twitching in a last gasp of life, but with a bullet lodged in the back of their heads, they soon found peace with serene faces.

Though I couldn’t offer them coins to hold in their mouths, perhaps if the lead was spread out well enough, it might be treated as currency?

As someone pondered this, the atmosphere began to shift strangely.

It was only natural.

Even if they had temporarily united against a common enemy, in the absence of that enemy, they were left in uncertainty about each other’s true intentions.

‘Where is this? Reinforcements sent from Geumyeong? No, if that were the case, they would have to reveal themselves. Moreover, Geumganghyeok isn’t reckless. He wouldn’t leave a trace in such a risky endeavor.’

From the perspective of the Zenolua family, they were the sudden disruptors of the plan.

‘It’s certain that the mafia is involved in this. But why did they attack here? What’s their purpose? Internal factions?’

On the other hand, Satra merely tilted her head, gazing at the familiar scent of ‘Ku.’

However, silence could not last forever, and it was Tita Zenolua who broke it first.

“Who are you?”

“That’s what we want to ask. Are you mafia?”

“I believe I asked the question first.”

The tension between the two women, which had briefly subsided, quickly reignited, and the factions, still buzzing with the thrill of battle, began to steady their breaths, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.

It was unlikely they would harbor any goodwill toward one another.

The gap in the information they possessed was significant, but inherently, soldiers and mafia could smile in front of each other while feeling a visceral disgust rising within.

Just as the situation teetered on the brink of explosion.

Zing—

Tita Zenolua’s wrist vibrated, cutting through the tension, and she checked the message briefly before calmly answering the call.

As if to say, “I care not for your kind.”

In that fleeting moment, when the subtle humiliation threatened to twist Satra’s face.

〔Y-Yes, Lord Jin Crow has entered the factory alone. We followed, but it seems we have lost him.〕

The voice that echoed through the call, louder than expected, reached not only Satra but also the two who were gathering themselves behind him—Famiu and Miel.

“……Who?”

“C-Captain?”

Famiu and Miel blinked, exchanging glances, their disbelief quickly morphing into a deep contemplation.

“……Why is the madman of the Colony here?”

Satra, of course, and several soldiers from the defense force who had encountered him directly muttered, shivers creeping down their spines.

“……Captain? And the madman of the Colony?”

With the last murmurs of Tita Zenolua echoing in their ears, all gazes became a chaotic tangle.

At last, the thought that lingered in their minds was the same.

‘Jin Crow.’

Why was that man here?

*

Meanwhile, at that very moment.

“Cough!”

“Ahhh!”

Unintentionally lost, Jin Crow wandered into a place marked as the control room. Soon, he dismantled the resisting androids in reverse assembly, turning them back into mere ‘andros’ before sinking into a chair.

It was not fatigue, nor was it a decline in his physical state.

No, the real issue was the sudden tension at the back of his head.

Sizzle, hiss—

With a regular cigarette, not one infused with awakening agents, he stared at the CCTV beyond the control room.

“……Hah.”

Amidst the smoke of his softly exhaled sigh, he caught sight of familiar ash-gray hair and the back of a platinum head he had once trusted.

He denied it for a moment, but soon the aspects he recognized, from their very essence to their abilities, all revealed themselves as Baek Hwi-young and Beatus.

His head throbbed.

‘Why the hell are you two here?’

He bit down on the end of his cigarette, then roughly swept aside the bangs that obscured his eyes, murmuring softly with a gaze heavy with mental fatigue.

“……These damned troublemakers.”

It was a single word, steeped in profound sincerity.